


Bridges I Have Burned

by barush



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barush/pseuds/barush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing isn’t Sirius Black’s career of choice and he is struggling to meet the deadline for his upcoming novel. The new man that suddenly appears in his life provides a welcome distraction, but there is something mysterious about him that Sirius cannot point his finger at. For better or worse, the ultimate revelation will change both their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bridges I Have Burned

**Author's Note:**

> Written for rs_games on livejournal. The prompt were lyrics from a song by Anne Murray "You Needed Me".

Standing outside Remus’ door, your newly published book held tightly to your chest and all your hopes completely crushed, you’re wondering when your life has become such a miserable mess.

It all started with a simple conversation.

“How much time did he give you?”

“Five months.”

“Five months? Five months! You can’t be serious.”

Normally, you’d laugh and make some lame joke to rival James’ horrible pun, but right now the only thing on your mind was how you were going to come up with a whole new idea, let alone turn it into an engaging plot and write it all down, no less, in such a short time.

“Well, you can always write a sequel?”

You both knew pretty well how you felt about that, so you just gave James a look to shut him up and went back to welling in your own misery. Staring into nothing, you missed the concerned expression that briefly passed over your best friend’s features.

“So, what are you gonna do?” he asked after a moment, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had made the atmosphere in the room so thick it could be cut with a knife.

In truth, you wanted to scream. To jump up and hit the wall with your bare fists. To kick over the table James was leaning against. Maybe even punch him right in the nose for asking such stupid questions. Instead, you sighed and said, “I have no idea.”

That, unfortunately, was no understatement.

*

 

When people asked you about your career, you always said “it’s a dream come true”. Every time, without fail. And every time, without fail, you wished it was the truth. You’d like to tell them how writing was your drug of choice. How it was like the air you couldn’t live without. You breathed it, ate it, slept it and then, in the end, made love to the finished product.  
It was streaming through your veins like life itself. It was an all encompassing and ever present entity, looming above you every step you took and giving you strength. You wished you could say all those things and mean them. It would be your dream come true.

Sadly, the harsh reality was, you hated just about anything and everything about writing. Yes, you were a faker. The smell of freshly printed out ink on stark white pages made you gag. The click, click, click of your keyboard drove you crazy. You hated being alone all the time, closed up in your room only with a laptop for company. You needed people, you needed action, you needed anything but five months till a deadline you knew you couldn’t meet. However, most of all, you needed money to maintain the standard of living you were used to, and you couldn’t see any other way to obtain it. It was like a never ending cycle of stress and second thoughts. Like a carousel you were unable to jump off.

“So, what will you have?”

“Uh?”

“Your order, sir?”

Startled back to reality by an unfamiliar husky voice, you realized the café you were sitting in was buzzing with people ordering their morning coffee and a late breakfast. When did this happen? It was nearly empty when you entered.

You looked over at the waiter and the only thing you could see were long, elegant fingers wrapped around a pencil and a small notebook. They didn’t look like hands that would belong to a hard working person, considering the neatly trimmed, clean nails, and perfect skin.

You had always had a thing for hands.

“Sir? I can come back later, if you-“

Startled once more, you finally looked up to the man’s face and said, “I’ll have a black coffee, no sugar.”

“Anything else?”

“No, that’s it.” Your eyes wandered from the waiter’s face to the small badge that was pinned to his shirt. “That’s it, Remus.”

The name sounded foreign to you, but it slid off your tongue as if you were made to say it out loud. Remus just smiled and left.

Today was Day One. Or at least that’s how you named it in your mind. Day One of the tedious process of creating a novel you didn’t have the slightest interest in. The only person who knew your true feelings about writing was James. The rest of the world had been led to believe that you couldn’t be more excited about the two-book deal you had won in a contest run by the government in support of ‘young people expressing themselves through words’.

A college drop out at that time, you had been more interested in the one hundred pound check that had been a prize for the first five runner ups than in expressing yourself through words. Never, not even in your wildest dreams, had you imagined that your surreal story written in less than two hours could actually win the whole competition. And the rest, it was history, as the cheesy phrase goes.

“Here you go.”

A steaming cup of hot coffee landed right in front you. Once again mesmerized by the perfectly clean and soft hands of the waiter - Remus, you remembered - you just nodded your head in thanks. A few moments passed and it became clear that Remus wasn’t about to leave any time soon. Curious, you looked up at him and said, “Yes?”

“Um, excuse me, but I just need to ask… Are you Sirius Black?”

And here it goes again, you sighed mentally. Any hopes of a quiet morning spent wallowing in self-pity were completely destroyed by another autograph seeker eager to sell a napkin with your signature on eBay. And he had such pretty hands too - what a shame.

Forcing a smile, you said, “Why yes, I am.”

Remus blushed. “I know that people probably tell you this all the time, but I adore your book. It’s so imaginative and rich. And I meet ... Uh, I used to meet a lot of kids and they all say it’s their favourite book!”

His rambling was rather cute, you had to admit. Still, it was just another by-product of what you hated and had to put up with every day. “Thank you,” you said, still sporting that obviously fake smile in hopes of scaring the poor man off and being able to have the rest of the morning for yourself. However, it seemed that Remus was a real fan.

“Um, is there any chance of a sequel? I mean, the universe you created, it has so much potential and –“

“No,” you cut him off.

“Oh.” His face fell and he blushed once again. “Well, then, enjoy your coffee Mr. Black. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

And he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared.

Although it was rather hard to admit, you felt a bit bad for brushing the waiter off so harshly. He seemed genuinely interested in your novel, unlike the most people you met, who only wanted a picture and a handshake with ‘that famous guy’. And that was why you went to the same café again the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. You wanted to show Remus the waiter that you weren’t a pompous idiot of a writer, but rather a lost soul desperate for the company of somebody other than his best friend. Or that was what you kept telling yourself anyway. Because Remus, he had gorgeous hands, but that was it. Nothing else of interest there. Not really.

And so it happened that going to Blackout Café became your everyday routine.

*

 

“Black coffee, no sugar. Here you go.”

“Thanks, Remus,” you said as you smiled up at the now familiar face.

It had been a month since Day One, and a few things had changed since you first ordered your favourite drink in this homely café.

James announced that he had knocked Lily up once again so little Harry would be getting a brother or a sister in a few months. After that revelation, you and James got so smashed that he didn’t make it home until late morning of the next day. You’d seen him only sporadically since then, as he had to play the good husband for a while to smooth things over with Lily.

Your agent, Alastor Moody, was breathing down your neck about the draft you were supposed to deliver in four months and it was driving you mad. You told him you needed to forget about looming deadlines and let your creative spirit flow freely. It sounded crazy, but it was enough for Moody to give you a break for a while at least, but in truth, it was total bullshit. You had no creative spirit left. It had all been spent on the first novel that you had delivered covered in the metaphorical blood and sweat, and very real tears of joy.

However, the most important thing that had changed during the first month of your self-inflicted torture was that you’d noticed that his hands weren’t the only interesting thing about Remus Lupin. That’s right, you knew even his surname now. You also knew that he had moved to London from Bradford after quitting his old job and was hoping to find something better to do than serving customers at Blackout soon. That made you rather sad because Remus Lupin was probably the most intriguing person you’d met in a while. There was something mysterious about him and you longed to find out what it was.

No time like the present, you thought and gestured to Remus to come over when he had a spare moment.

*

 

“You did what?”

“James, relax.”

“I mean, Sirius, you barely even know that guy!”

“I know his name. I know where he works. I know I like him. What more is there to know?” you shrugged. James’ bursts of protectiveness were infamous, so you weren’t really fazed anymore.

“Is he even into guys?”

Well, that wasn’t such an unimportant question. Was Remus gay? In truth, you had no idea. However, that hadn’t stopped you from asking him out the other day. The fact that he had agreed suggested that there might be a chance, but then again, maybe the poor guy thought it was just a friendly invitation from a lonely writer who wanted to socialize. Or maybe Remus only wanted to talk about your novel. The thought alone made you sick.

“I have no idea, but I guess I’ll find out soon enough, eh?”

James just shook his head and rather tactfully changed the topic to Lily’s cravings and late night trips to the grocery store.

*

 

From the second that Remus entered the bar you had agreed to meet at, it was clear that discussing literature was the last of his intentions. The tight jeans left literally nothing to imagination, and the plain black t-shirt just added to the overall casual yet sexy effect. To put it simply, Remus looked steaming hot. Such a change from the shy waiter you had gotten to know over the past month.

You licked your lips. “Hey.”

Remus just smiled and nodded his head toward the bar. It was too loud to try to speak, so you just followed him, staring at his ass the whole time and hoping to God that he wasn’t leading you on or pulling a prank on you. Your ‘gaydar’ seemed to have spontaneously combusted, so you had no idea what to think anymore.

As the night progressed though, it became clear that your intentions were rather similar. No spoken words were needed after you let yourself be dragged onto the dance floor and spent what felt like a good hour staring into Remus’ eyes, seeing the same lust you felt reflected there. No words were needed when you casually brushed each other’s hands while sitting at the bar, sipping at your drinks. The only other person who could understand you without speech was James, but that was totally different. You’d known him for the better part of your life, unlike Remus, who was basically still a stranger. And yet, it felt like you’d made a stronger connection with him in one night than you had with anybody else in years.

However, there was something peculiar about the man whom you longed to get to know better. Something you couldn’t put your finger on.

When you finally called it a night, both exhausted and covered in sweat, you stepped outside the bar and started to walk in the direction of the nearest bus stop. Suddenly, the silence started to feel rather uncomfortable, so you decided it was time to strike up a casual conversation.

“So, Remus, why did you decide to move to London?”

Mentally, you cringed at yourself. Subtlety really wasn’t one of your strengths, it seemed. Holding your breath, you hoped that Remus wouldn’t call you on your awkward attempt at satisfying your curiosity and play along, if only for the sake of salvaging what had been such a great night so far.

“I’ve already told you, I wanted to start over with a clean slate. No expectations, no prejudice. Just me and whatever might come my way here.”

You wanted to ask why, but the smile that Remus gave you wasn’t a friendly one and it clearly indicated that this topic was over.

And with that, the desire to get to know the man walking by your side better grew.

*

 

It seemed to you that ever since you’d been given the five month deadline by your publisher, the time started to fly at the speed of light. Moody was breathing down your neck once again, and you started to seriously ponder the option of just not delivering anything this time and damn the consequences. The rational part of your brain always won this inner argument, though, and you went right back to stressing over the non-existent draft. Or maybe you did it because of the vision of you sleeping on the streets, smelling bad, and begging passers by for money, that was haunting you more and more frequently these days. However, none of this changed the fact that you had mere three months left to write something that didn’t even exist in your head yet.

On the other hand, the relationship you had started with Remus seemed to be going swimmingly. You saw him every morning in the café he was still working at, and almost every evening, after spending the rest of the day alone in your flat. Remus was a very pleasant distraction, but not only that. You thought you really had something special with this man about whom you knew so much already, but still not enough.

You knew Remus’ parents were dead and he had no other family. You knew his favourite band was the Doors, but he’d listen to basically anything as long as it caught his fancy. You knew his favourite colour was blue, his favourite food was anything spicy, and he had a weird interest in long dead philosophers, such as Nietzsche or Sartre. You also knew he was great in bed, having had first hand experience with this particular topic. He was smart, funny, a bit romantic and a bit crazy, in a good way. Just the perfect guy. However, there was still something missing, something seemed to be off. Sometimes you thought it was just your crazy imagination going into overdrive, but there were times when Remus would drop some hint about his past, yet refuse to elaborate further. Or he would get a faraway, unfocused look on his face.

There was a part of Remus Lupin that you had no idea about, but, what you didn’t know was that it was about to change.

*

 

“Sirius, you can’t go on like this, you’ll go crazy.”

You were sitting in a quiet pub, drinking beer, and it was Remus’ voice that interrupted your stream of thoughts. He had obviously mistaken your lack of any response for you being worried about your novel. Well, he wasn’t that far from the truth.

“I know. But I have no idea what to do. I can’t write when I’m not inspired, but how can I get inspired when all I do anymore is sit at home and worry about what I’m gonna do?”

That wasn’t the only thing you were doing, as you both knew well, but you really didn’t want to see Moody’s face, if you ever presented him with a gay erotica novel.

“Well, there’s still the possibility of a sequel. No, hear me out. Your first novel was the freshest thing that’s hit the shelves in years, and all teachers and parents adore you now. Because what kid doesn’t like to read about a normal boy who finds out one day that he’s a wizard and is taken on this awesome journey full of magic and adventure? Besides, you’ve created this whole universe and can do whatever you want with it now. I know you hated writing it, Sirius, but seeing as you don’t have too much time left and virtually no other ideas…”

Remus trailed off and looked at you with a concerned expression. Deep down, though, you knew he was right. Your first novel was an international hit and only a fool wouldn’t follow up on it, but that thought alone made you sick. However, you really weren’t writing for pleasure, so anything else you might have come up with would have the same effect.

You took a deep breath and prepared yourself to tell Remus that yes, he was right, and you’d seriously start thinking about it, when a teenage boy approached your table

“Doctor Lupin? What are you doing here?”

Remus froze.

Confused, you looked at the boy and then at Remus, not having the slightest idea what was going on. The man sitting opposite you clearly didn’t have the same problem, though.

“Neville, hi.” Remus addressed the fair haired teenager with a small but genuine smile.

“I had no idea you moved to London,” Neville continued. “Cool! Do you still practice? I hate my new therapist.”

Remus gave you a pleading look, as if to say ‘I’ll explain later’ and turned back to the boy standing at your table. “Why don’t you give me a call and we’ll talk about it, all right?”

Neville seemed satisfied with that answer and, after exchanging a few more social niceties, finally left the two of you alone.

Looking rather sheepish, Remus coughed slightly, as if he wanted to say something but changed his mind at the last second. You were having none of it, though. Utterly confused and incredulous, the most coherent thing your brain came up with was, “What the heck, Remus?”

Remus sighed, resigned, and said, “Not here.”

Silently, you both got up and left the pub. You followed Remus to his flat without saying anything, a whirlwind of thoughts in your head. Remus had a lot of explaining to do.

*

 

“Sirius, that’s amazing! I knew you could do this!”

“It’s not done yet.”

“No, no, of course not, but I’m sure you’ll pull it off. You know, to be honest, I think this one is going to be even better than your debut.”

James’ excitement was almost intoxicating. Honestly, you hadn’t expected such a positive response, but in hindsight, James was a great choice for the first reader of your almost finished product. There was more than a month left to the deadline and you were already putting finishing touches to what would be the first complete draft of your second novel. What had looked like an utter disaster mere two months ago turned into a surreal writing spree like you’d never experienced before. It was like something inside of you just snapped and the cogs in your brain started to go into a totally opposite direction, turning you into a proper novelist in the process. You were even able to enjoy the act of writing this time around.

It all looked so wonderful on the surface, but there was one thing keeping you from sharing in James’ happiness; you were slowly being eaten by guilt on the inside.

And the very person responsible for that was Remus Lupin.

The night you met the boy called Neville, you and Remus talked for hours on end, until the sun came up. Remus called in sick to work then and you talked some more. All the questions you had were answered with honesty, the mystery of Remus’ occasional weird moods and far away looks was revealed and it made you hurt. You’d never known that compassion could be so painful.

He asked for forgiveness for keeping his past a secret, and you said there was nothing to apologize for. Not to you, anyway. You understood why he hadn’t told you before. Why he kept it a secret.

He said it made him feel better, lighter somehow, to share his burden with you. And you said his honesty and trust made you fall in love with him.

He burst into tears and told you he loved you too.

After all this, you went home and started to write immediately. For hours on end and then some more. Your hands were moving so fast on the keyboard that it was difficult for your brain to keep up. It was like all levees of your unconsciousness burst and poured onto the paper. There was no turning back.

When Remus asked about the idea that had gotten you so passionate, about the plot that was filling more and more pages every day, you said you were not at the liberty to say. Publisher’s orders. Copyright issues. It would be a surprise. And Remus, he always smiled and said ‘okay’, but you could tell that deep down he was disappointed. He knew that something wasn’t right, the same as you had known there was something more to his ‘starting over new’ story when you had first met him.

That crucial night, when Remus told you everything about what brought him to London, after you confessed your love for each other, he said he’d been afraid that his lies would tear you apart. Little did he know that it would be your lies that would eventually destroy what you had.

But for now, you kept writing and nurturing your relationship with the most wonderful man you’d ever met. You were too much of a coward to tell him the truth behind your sudden inspiration and thus signed the death sentence of your relationship, because, once your draft was accepted for publishing - and you knew it would be - there was no way Remus would want to have anything to do with you any more. You traded money for love. And it made you feel disgusted with yourself.

*

 

Six months into your relationship with Remus Lupin, your second novel was published. All deadlines were met and everyone at the publishing company was so excited about it that they didn’t even make you go through ten different drafts. This is going to be another bestseller, everyone said.

The only other person who read the finished thing was James, but nobody knew where the inspiration came from. When they asked, you said it was just a product of your imagination.

However, there was one person who knew exactly where your plot came from. Or rather, he would, when he read the book eventually.

“I want to buy it myself, okay? I’m a bit short of cash right now, but I should get paid next week. I’m so excited to read it, Sirius. I can’t believe you didn’t budge and tell me what it’s all about!” Remus laughed and pecked you on the cheek. You had to excuse yourself and go throw up in the bathroom.

Afterwards, you couldn’t even look in the mirror at your own reflection. You knew you wouldn’t recognize that man anyway.

*

 

You hadn’t heard from Remus in a few days, which wasn’t particularly unusual, but still, you started to wonder if you’d ever see him again.

In need of any possible distraction, you picked up a review of your new novel. Not yet a week after being published, the reviews already started to come in. Most of them were positive too, which made you hate yourself even more. In hindsight, you really should have dropped out of that book deal and focused on your personal life for once, the consequences be damned. Because now, reading the article, you realized how real your betrayal really was.

**_“Empty Spaces” by Sirius Black ****_ **

_This time around, Black really outdid himself. After a fantasy novel for pre-teens, he came up with a raw story about human tragedy and desperation, something not even real life itself could write. It’s difficult to sum up the whole plot in just a few lines, but I will try to do my best. Spoilers ahead. Frank Johnson has just moved to London after quitting his job as a psychotherapist in Manchester. Having grown up in a rather poor and abusive family, Frank’s life-long dream was to be able to help children in need, so applying for a scholarship and then setting up a private practice as a therapist specializing in children seemed like the right way to go. And it was, until Frank met Peter, his fifteen-year old patient, whom he diagnosed with depression and started to meet with regularly. The police call telling him that Peter was accused of a brutal double homicide committed against his own parents, comes as a complete and utter shock to Frank. Looking back, the therapist is sure all the warning signs were there, however, he failed to recognize every single one of them. Taking all the blame upon himself and falling deep into depression, Frank decides to quit being a therapist, move out of his hometown and start a new life in London. He finds a job as a waiter in a café, serving customers day and night. The way Black portrays the feelings and inner conflicts of this man feels so real and powerful that …_

You had to stop reading at that point, the nausea so overpowering that it made your head spin.

*

 

It was shaping up to be another hit, the predictions were great. Your publisher had even offered you an extension of your deal and you were assured the pay check would be better than great. Everything you’d never wanted was coming your way.

Meanwhile, the only thing that had been making you happy lately was slipping through your fingers. And you were the only one to blame.

Your cell phone buzzed in your pocket.

Remus.

“Come over to my place.”

Your legs shaking uncontrollably, you got up and began what felt like the longest journey in your life.

*

 

The door to Remus’ apartment swung open and revealed him standing there in his pyjamas, holding your novel in his hand.

You had expected anger or maybe violence, even though Remus was the last person to settle anything using his fists. You had expected shouting and swearing at least, even though you knew that would be rather out of character for the man you had been calling your boyfriend for the past six months. You had expected anything but this cold calmness.

“You stole my life, Sirius.”

“Remus, I –“

“I trusted you. I thought you were different. I poured my heart out to you and you used it for your own profit.”

“Remus, please –“

“I hope you’re satisfied. It seems like there’s another big hit on the horizon for you.”

Remus’ words cut deeply, just as intended, and you both knew they were deserved. Hell, you deserved much worse, but that was to come later. Because, at that moment, you couldn’t imagine a harsher punishment than never seeing Remus Lupin ever again.

“If you want a sequel, don’t come to me.”

With that, Remus thrust the book into your hand and shut the door.

And that’s where you are right now. Standing outside Remus’ door, your newly published book held tightly to your chest and all your hopes completely crushed. You’re wondering when your life had become such a miserable mess.

*

 

James calls you an idiot. Multiple times. Over the past six months, he’s gotten to know Remus rather well, or at least way better than any of your previous boyfriends, so he knows exactly what you’ve lost by being a completely selfish bastard. You’re really glad that Lily could go into labour any second because that means you’re not the highest on James’ list of things to deal with and you can wallow in your self-pity. You have a strange sense of things in your life coming full circle yet again, as you’re feeling almost exactly the same as when you got the deadline for your second novel. At that time, you thought ‘If I do this, my life will get better.’ And it would have, if you hadn’t managed to fuck it up so spectacularly in the process.

You haven’t heard from Remus since the confrontation in his flat. Not surprising, really, but part of you still wasn’t ready to accept the consequences of what you’ve done and hoped that maybe, just maybe, Remus would show up at your door unexpectedly, even if it was just to shout at you or punch you in the face. Anything was better than the silence and uncertainty.

If somebody told you years ago that’d you willingly trade money for what you knew was the love of your life, you’d laugh in their face. And now you’re wondering what kind of a monster you’ve become. How did this happen?

It’s probably the masochist in you that makes you go into Blackout Café almost two weeks after the day your life turned into a shade of grey. You have no idea what you’re doing, but the desire to see Remus once again is so overpowering that you cannot fight it anymore. You want to repent, but have no idea how. You want another chance even though you know you don’t deserve it. You want to go back in time.

A young girl with a notepad approaches your table. “What will you have?”

“Um, are you new here?” you stutter. This, you haven’t counted on.

“Yeah, they needed a new waiter and I needed a job, so I’m here.”

Completely shocked, you order a black coffee.

*

 

James and Lily’s new daughter is born and you get to babysit little Harry a lot more than usual, which takes you out of the depression you’ve fallen into for a while at least. When James is picking Harry up one Sunday, he tells you, “You look like shit.”

And it’s not a joke either.

Ever since the fiasco with Remus, you haven’t been able to sleep properly and the very thought about food makes you nauseous. Your new book is selling like crazy, which just adds to your misery, but no one other than James understands why. You should be happy, right? It doesn’t happen every day that a young new author reaches such stardom with his first novel and continues to enjoy it with the next one too. And yet, the only thing you feel like doing any more is staring into nothing

“You should seek professional help,” James says seriously, meaning every word. He knows he can’t do anything for you this time.

“Like a therapist?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

That makes you laugh hysterically. And when your laughter turns into sobbing, James tells Harry to go to your living room to play and cradles you in his arms.

This is what you’ve become.

*

 

One morning you wake up, so sick of your pathetic self that you can’t stand it any more. It’s time you forgot about Remus and let him go. He’s probably already found someone who will love him and cherish him instead of spilling his secrets to thousands of people, literally.

In order to really begin the process of moving on and dealing with your guilt, you need closure. No, that didn’t come from your head, but from that clever book that James oh so accidentally left at your house one day when it was clear that you seeking any professional help was out of question.

This is something you really need to do for your own peace of mind because the last time you saw Remus isn’t how you want him to remember you.

Seeing as there’s really been enough of your words already, you decide to borrow from somebody more skilled at expressing the sentiment you feel. Sometimes less is more, you think, and it’s time you showed a little honesty.

_“I’m swimming in the smoke, of bridges I have burned, so don’t apologize, I’m losing what I don’t deserve. The blame is mine alone, for bridges I have burned, so don’t apologize; I’m losing what I don’t deserve.”*_

Putting the note into the prepared envelope, you’re hoping Remus hasn’t moved out of his flat or even out of the city. London is big and anonymous enough that you wouldn’t probably meet ever again anyway, if getting away from you was his intention.

You take a deep breath and with shaking hands bring the envelope to your lips.

“Goodbye.”

*

 

“So now that you’ve been instructed, you’ll get a supervisor that will answer any questions you might have and will teach you and help you with everything you need. Don’t expect to be put on the line for at least two or three weeks, depending on how your training goes. So, if you could wait here and I’ll fetch our man.”

Mrs. Weasley rushes out of the room and leaves you alone, nervous and excited at the same time.

After convincing your agent and publisher that no, you really didn’t want to write any more novels any time soon, thank you very much, you were finally released out of your contract.

You started to search for a job without much success, as you had no real experience or education. Then James suggested that with the money you’d made after publishing your second novel, you could volunteer somewhere for a while and see where it took you from there.

Somehow, Helpline seemed like the obvious choice. Having gone through some tough times lately, you started to see the appeal in trying to reach out to others and offering even the little you could. Plus, you thought it was time to start doing something good and productive with your life already. And volunteering would certainly take your mind off of Remus, if only for a while.

You decided to give a call to Mrs. Weasley, the London coordinator of Helpline. She arranged a meeting with you and soon it began apparent that you had what they needed in a volunteer. If everything turned out well, she said, you could be even hired to a paid position later on.

Today is your very first day and you couldn’t be more thrilled. Suddenly, the door bursts open and in comes Mrs. Weasley again.

“Mr. Black! Sorry, it took a while, but we’re here. So, this is Doctor Remus Lupin. He’ll be your supervisor for the next few weeks. Remus is quite new here as well, but he’s a certified psychotherapist and a fast learner, so he’s already become a valuable member of our team. I need to go now, but I’m sure you two will get along great. See you later, Mr. Black. Remus.”

And with that, she is gone.

Suddenly, the tension in the room becomes so thick it could be cut with a knife. You almost forget how to breathe. There are thousands of things you want to say, but the only thing your brain can come up with is, “Remus.”

The man opposite you coughs slightly and says, “Sirius.”

Great, you still remember each others names, you think. Remus looks fantastic, better than you’ve ever seen him before. You know it’s selfish and the last thing that should be on your mind right now, but you hope it’s because of his new job and not a new relationship.

You can’t look into his eyes, so instead you’re studying his soft pink lips that are set in a tight line. Suddenly, you get an overwhelming urge to tell Remus that this all is a huge mistake and then flee. You’ve been hoping to see him again for so long, but now, that it’s really happened, you don’t know what to do with yourself. But before you manage to actually say anything, Remus speaks up.

“I think maybe it’s time you’ve started rebuilding some of the bridges you’ve burned.”

His voice is serious, but there is no anger in it. You look up, meeting his eyes for the first time since he’s come into the room. He’s still the same man you’ve known before, but the familiar spark you used to see in his eyes is missing. You’ve hurt him in an unimaginable way and there is no telling if you can ever earn his trust back, but you’re more than eager to follow the long and winding path, even though you have no idea where it might lead you.

Taking a deep breath, you make sure Remus is looking at you before you speak.

“Maybe you’re right.”

And with that a whole new chapter of the book of your life begins. You have a feeling you’ll actually enjoy writing it this time.

**Author's Note:**

> *Lyrics are from a Linkin Park song called "Bridges I Have Burned". 
> 
> Thank you to remuslives23 for the beta :)


End file.
